Holiday by Design

And once she had the promise of a show at Up and Coming, she could go back to the various banks. Surely, with the show in her future, someone would be willing to lend her operating capital.

Grateful that Chick the Rat was still out of town and she didn’t have to take a sick day to have enough time to meet with Marcus Barlow, Joanna began getting her things ready for her eleven-thirty appointment. She was just about to leave for the gallery when her cell phone rang.

She frowned at the display. Queen Anne Community Bank? Why were they calling her? Thinking it was probably some kind of credit card offer, she almost let the call go to voice mail, but she had a few minutes, so she might as well answer and get rid of them. Otherwise, they’d just pester her again.

Seven minutes later, in stunned disbelief, she disconnected the call. Holy cow! She hoped she’d made sense in her conversation with the loan officer. What on earth was going on? Was the entire world tilting on its axis? Why else would everything suddenly make a 180-degree swing and begin to go right for her when yesterday everything in her life had been totally hopeless? It was almost as if some fairy godmother had waved a magic wand, she thought in dazed disbelief.

Queen Anne Community Bank had decided to lend her the money she needed to finance her collection. Actually, the loan they’d proposed would be enough to keep her in operating capital for a year or more. It would enable her to find a place to do business and to hire as many employees as she needed to assist her in fulfilling future orders. She’d also be able to purchase all necessary materials and equipment to run the business.

She was so excited she wasn’t sure she trusted herself to drive to the gallery. Maybe, just this once, she’d indulge herself and take a taxi.

Thirty minutes later, as her watch showed it to be 11:22, the cab pulled up in front of Up and Coming. Joanna had dressed carefully for this interview. She’d worn her most demure black dress—a long-sleeved lightweight ribbed wool turtleneck that ended a modest three inches above her knees—sheer black tights and four-inch-high black suede platforms. She’d even considered removing her black nail polish, but couldn’t bear to ruin her manicure, which she’d gotten Saturday and could ill afford. Dangling silver earrings and an armload of silver bangle bracelets completed her outfit, and she’d even managed to tame her unruly black hair into some semblance of a plain pixie without spikes.

The only thing worrying Joanna right now—other than actually securing the show—was the prospect of having to work with Brenda Garfield. The woman had made no secret of the way she felt about either Joanna or her designs, had she? So even if Marcus Barlow liked Joanna’s work and agreed to give her the show, if the Garfield woman wasn’t on board, she could make life difficult.

Worse, she could ruin the show.

Well, Joanna would just have to make sure that didn’t happen. She’d worked her butt off for another chance at the brass ring. And now that it was here, she intended to grab it and hold on to it for dear life, because nothing—not Brenda Garfield, not Ivan Klemenko, not Chick, not anyone or anything—was going to take it away from her.

Not this time.

* * *

Marcus was looking forward to meeting Joanna Spinelli. From her designs, and from Cornelia Hunt’s glowing recommendation, he figured he knew what to expect. He pictured a slim, elegant young woman, someone refined, with delicate features and classic beauty. She would be the kind of woman who could wear the lovely clothing she designed and do justice to it. He imagined someone modest and old-fashioned—the kind of woman he continually hoped to meet but never seemed to. Someone the exact opposite of Amanda Warren, his most recent relationship, which had ended badly.

So when Joanna Spinelli walked into the gallery just before eleven-thirty, he thought she was a salesperson...or a customer. Yes, a customer. Salespeople generally dressed more conservatively than the young woman approaching the counter.

“Hello, Miss Garfield,” the woman was saying. “I’m here for my eleven-thirty appointment with Mr. Barlow.”

Marcus, who stood just out of sight behind a latticework screen, stared, finding it hard to believe that this woman, who was the polar opposite of the kind of woman he’d pictured, was the designer of those beautiful clothes.

Brenda looked in his direction. “Marcus,” she said.

Still in disbelief, Marcus walked out from behind the screen. “Good morning. I’m Marcus Barlow.”

“Good morning. Joanna Spinelli.” Her dark eyes met his.

In them, he saw intelligence and intensity. They shook hands. Her handshake was firm and strong. His initial disappointment at the way she looked faded, to be replaced by a mixture of curiosity and something else, something very close to admiration, even though she was not the type of woman who normally appealed to him. In her, though, he recognized a worthy opponent. The thought startled him. Why think of her as an opponent? If things went well today, they would be colleagues.

And he did want them to go well, even though up to this moment he hadn’t been one hundred percent sure of that. “Shall we go into my office?”

Once they were settled in the office—him behind the desk, her seated in front of it, with her portfolio on the desk between them—he said, “I was impressed by the designs on your website, Ms. Spinelli.”

“Thank you. But please, call me Joanna.”

She should smile more often; it made her seem warmer. “And I’m Marcus.” She really was quite attractive, once you got past all that black eyeliner and mascara and the dark red lipstick. Not to mention the black nail polish.

Even Vanessa knew better than to wear black nail polish in his presence. He did notice that Joanna’s nails were quite short. He figured she kept them that way because it made it easier for her to work with the delicate fabrics she seemed to favor in her designs. “Before we discuss a possible show for you, I have some questions.”

“Of course.”

“First of all, how many designs have you ready to show?”

“Right now I have nine completed and the tenth about half done. But I’ve only recently found out that a business loan I applied for has been granted, so I’m planning to give notice at my day job in the morning. Once I’m working on the collection full-time, I should be able to get half a dozen more designs ready by, say, the first of November.”

“I know very little about the fashion industry, but sixteen seems like a good number for a show.”

“It’s actually more than most designers show. I had been hoping for twelve designs. So if you feel sixteen is too many, having a couple extra would give us more options to choose from.”

He nodded. “If I may ask, where are you getting a business loan?” He hoped it wasn’t from some fly-by-night finance company that would gouge her.

“From the Queen Anne Community Bank.”

“Really?” He couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice. Queen Anne Community Bank was one of the most conservative banks around. Joanna’s hardly seemed like the kind of business they would be willing to back. They generally wanted something physical they could use as collateral against default, like a building or expensive equipment. What would she have? A few sewing machines?

“I know,” she said, her own voice echoing his disbelief. “I can still hardly believe it myself. They just called me, right before I left to come here. I was shocked. I—I’ve been turned down everywhere. In fact, I’d given up hope.” She made a face. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this.”

He liked her better because she had. After all, anyone with an ounce of business sense would know she wasn’t a good financial risk. No artist was.

“That answers another important question,” Marcus said. “I was curious about how you’ve been financing your work.”

“It’s been tough. Up till now, I’ve had to squeeze every penny out of my personal finances. Although my family has helped out some.” She smiled again. “In particular, my grandmother. She believes in me. Well, actually, my entire family believes in me. But they’re not wealthy. Besides, this is my dream. I knew going into it I would have to work really hard and probably have to sacrifice a lot if I was going to make it. I didn’t expect anything less.”

Marcus studied her thoughtfully. He was surprised to find he liked her. She seemed to have a commonsense approach to her work and a good, level head. “You might have noticed that we are planning to show the work of a young jewelry designer sometime soon.”

She nodded. “Truthfully? That’s the reason I thought about approaching you. When I read about the jewelry designs.”

“How would you feel about our combining the two shows? Having some of the jewelry worn by your models.”

She frowned. “I don’t know. Um, what kind of jewelry is it? I know the designer is your sister. Miss Garfield told me. But she didn’t say anything about the jewelry itself.”

“I have some photos.” He got up and walked to the bookcase, where he took down a thin album. He laid it in front of her and watched her face as she turned the pages and studied the various designs.

“I like them a lot,” she said, finally looking up. “She makes exactly the kinds of things I like to wear, but do you really think they’re compatible with my designs? I mean, the jewelry is ultrasleek, and my designs are completely the opposite.”

“I think that’s exactly why they’ll look good together. Because they’re so unexpected a combination.”

She hesitated. “I don’t know. I told myself I would agree to anything you suggested, but I’m just not sure this will work. Is...this a deal breaker?”

He was a bit taken aback that she hadn’t immediately agreed with his suggestion. And yet he couldn’t help respecting the fact that she wasn’t afraid to stand up for herself. “Not necessarily. I would like for you and my sister to meet so you can see her work in person. Can you reserve judgment until then?”

She nodded, but he could see the doubt remaining in her eyes. No problem. He’d change her mind. Most people, even if they disagreed with him initially, came around to his way of thinking. “Good. We’ll see if we can set something up for next week. Perhaps lunch one day? Would that work for you?”

“That sounds perfect.”

He had planned to show her the work of the artist whose paintings would be featured throughout the month of November to see how she felt about being paired with him, but now he decided to wait until she and Vanessa met. He wasn’t really worried about the outcome of the meeting—he was confident he could convince both women his idea was a good one—but it paid to be cautious.

“Um, Mr. Barlow...Marcus...what if, after meeting your sister, I would still prefer not to be paired with her?”

She had guts, he’d give her that. “You mean, will I still be interested in giving you a show?”

She nodded.

“Yes, I will.”

“So it’ll be my decision?”

He almost laughed. She definitely had guts. He was right to imagine her as an opponent earlier. “Yes. It’ll be your decision. In fact, I’ll ask my assistant to draw up a contract today and call you when it’s ready.”

Business concluded, he escorted her out to the gallery floor and watched her leave. Why all the black? he wondered. Was she trying to make some kind of statement? If so, in his opinion, it was the wrong one. But he wasn’t worried about that, either. They had plenty of time to work on changing her look.

“So you sent her packing?” Brenda said once the door closed behind her.

Marcus’s head shot around. He’d almost forgotten Brenda was there. “Sent her packing? No. I liked her, and I like her designs. If everything works out, I plan to give her a show.”

Brenda’s eyes narrowed. “I think that’s a mistake, Marcus.”

“And why is that?”

“Because she’s hardly the type of person you want to promote.”

“Her designs are beautiful.”

“They’re pretty enough, but I question her taste level.”

“Her taste level? What do you mean?”

“Well, just look at her. I’d expect to find someone like her behind a makeup counter in one of the department stores, not here, in a gallery like ours.”

“That’s easily fixed.”

She looked as if she wanted to continue to argue with him. Instead, she said, “Who were you thinking of pairing her with?”

“I’m not sure.” He was, but he wasn’t in the mood to share the information with Brenda just yet, especially since she’d obviously taken a dislike to Joanna.

“Well,” she said stiffly, “I still think you’re making a mistake. I also think you’re setting a precedent that you will regret.”

“You could be right, but we’ll have to agree to disagree this time.”

He turned to walk back into the office when she muttered, “I just hope you don’t expect me to introduce her to prospective buyers.”

Marcus stopped and just looked at her. Her head was bent over some papers, and even though he knew she knew he was looking at her, she didn’t look up. After a few seconds, Marcus continued into the office without saying anything more. Because he knew if he did, it would be something he might be sorry for later.

* * *

“So, how’d the meeting at the gallery go today?”

“Except for the fact that I don’t think Marcus Barlow likes me, it went fairly well.” Joanna explained about Marcus Barlow’s sister and her jewelry designs. “We’re having lunch together sometime next week to see how we get on.”

“Then what you said doesn’t make a lick of sense,” Georgie said. “If he didn’t like you, he would have shown you the door today.”

“That’s not necessarily true.”

“Why on earth do you think he doesn’t like you?”

“The way he looked at me, for one thing. It was obvious he disapproved of me.”

“Joanna, come on. You’re exaggerating, surely.”

“No, I’m not. I’m used to that look. Men either want to get me into bed or turn up their noses when they see me. There’s seldom a happy medium. And men like Marcus Barlow belong to the latter group. I’m surprised he even wants to give me a show.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Why would how you look have any bearing on his decision to give you a show? It’s your designs that will be shown, not you. I mean, I’ve seen the way some of the big-name designers look, and trust me, a lot of them are downright weird.”

“Yes, but this isn’t New York or Paris. This is Seattle.”

“Seattle’s not a cow town, you know. It’s considered very hip and cool.”

“By the people who live here, maybe.”

“Now you’re not making any sense at all. I can’t imagine that a man who would own a gallery like Up and Coming would be bothered because you look more avant-garde than conservative. Anyway, we could argue about this all day and get nowhere. So let’s move on. Tell me what he’s like—other than the fact that you think he doesn’t like you or approve of you.”

“In a nutshell, he’s handsome, arrogant and used to telling people what to do.”

“Arrogant? Really?”

“Really.”

“That’s funny.”

“What’s funny?”

“My mother said he was charming. She really liked him. And she’s a good judge of character.”

“What do you mean, your mother said he was charming? When did you talk to your mother about him?”

“I, uh...”

“Georgie, did your mother have anything to do with him calling me?”

“Well, I, um, may have mentioned something to her about him and the gallery and how you wanted to have a show there.”

“Georgie!”

“Jeez, Joanna, don’t get all worked up. It’s normal in the business world to use your contacts. Why shouldn’t you? Anyway, I don’t know if my mother called him or not. Didn’t you say he said something about getting your business card from that manager of his?”

“Yes, but—”

“Well, maybe he never talked to Mom. But even if he did, it’s not a big deal. He would never offer to give you a show unless he liked your work.”

“Maybe that’s why he wants to combine his sister’s work with mine. Maybe he thinks mine needs help.”

“I would think,” Georgie said, “if he wants to show your work along with his sister’s, that he really loves your work. I mean, his sister, Joanna.”

“I told him I wasn’t sure I wanted to have my models wearing her jewelry.”

“You did? Really?”

“Yep.”

Georgie laughed. “I can’t believe you sometimes. And what did he say to that?” She was still laughing.

“He said it would be my decision.”

“Then I have no idea what you’re worried about! Sounds to me like he was perfectly reasonable and nice to you.”

Joanna sighed. “On one level, I know you’re right. But on another, I just have this feeling.”

“What feeling?”

“That as far as my show is concerned, Marcus Barlow is going to want to have everything his way. And I’m not sure his way is my way. In fact, I’m sure it’s not.”

For a moment, Georgie didn’t say anything. When she did, Joanna could tell she was trying not to laugh again. “Sounds to me like there might be fireworks ahead.”

Joanna just hoped she wouldn’t be the one getting burned.

Chapter Four

“But, Marcus, I thought this was going to be my chance. I don’t want to share my show with someone else.”

Marcus had figured Vanessa wouldn’t be any more eager to share a show than Joanna had been, but his sister wasn’t really in any position to argue the point, not after her behavior last week.

“This isn’t fair,” she cried. “You’re just doing this to punish me because you’re still mad at me. You grounded me all weekend! Isn’t that enough?”

“I am not punishing you. Besides, combining the two shows isn’t cast in stone. If, after you meet her and see her designs, you still feel you don’t want to do a show with her, we’ll keep them separate. But I think combining the two will enhance the work of both of you, and I’d like you to consider it.”

“But I don’t have to do it if I don’t want to?”

“As I told Miss Spinelli, no, it’ll be your decision. Yours and hers.”

“So she’s not any more eager to combine shows than I am?” Her eyes brightened.

“She’s keeping an open mind. Now, will you take a look at her designs?”

Vanessa sighed. “Oh, all right, I’ll go look at her website now.”

Half an hour later, she came into the study where he was going over the household accounts. “Okay, I went to her website. And she does design beautiful clothes. They’re not the kinds of things I would ever want to wear, but I can see how they’d appeal to a lot of girls. Still, I don’t think—”

“They’re the kinds of things you should wear,” Marcus said, interrupting. He gave a disparaging glance at her torn jeans and tight, layered T-shirts. At five nine and a half, with her wheat-colored hair and beautiful eyes, Vanessa would be striking in one of Joanna’s elegant ensembles. In fact, the dark blue evening gown overlaid in lace would look great on her. Not that she ever went to the kinds of places a young woman would wear something like that. It was all he could do to get her to attend charity functions sponsored by the family. Vanessa gave him a long-suffering look. “As I started to say, I don’t think my jewelry and her designs would look good together.”

“And I think the contrast between them would be interesting.”

“Oh, c’mon, Marcus. You don’t know anything about fashion. Her clothes cry out for high-end jewels, the kinds of things made by Neil Lane or Harry Winston.” She rolled her eyes to show what she thought of them.

“Most young women would kill to be able to wear high-end jewels,” he said mildly.

“I’m not like everyone else.”

Where had this rebellious streak come from? Until recently, Vanessa had been one of the most agreeable sisters imaginable. In fact, she would have done just about anything to please him. But lately she seemed to delight in opposing him. “I only want you to meet the woman.”

“But what’s the point?”

“The point is, I’ve asked it as a favor to me.”

If looks could kill, hers was lethal. “Oh, whatever. Fine. I’ll meet her.”

“Good.”

“When?”

“We’ll go to lunch with her one day early next week.”

“I have a really busy week coming up.”

“One lunch won’t take up that much of your time.”

Marcus put his head in his hands after Vanessa, with another elaborate sigh and still grumbling under her breath, left the room. Why couldn’t people just be reasonable? It was a good thing this day was nearly over. Between the problems he’d had this morning with a new supplier in Copenhagen, Brenda’s almost insubordination after the meeting with Joanna Spinelli, and Vanessa’s pouts and sighs, he was ready for something different.

Unfortunately, he still had dinner with his mother to look forward to. And with the way his luck was running, she’d have a list of problems she expected him to solve.

Sometimes Marcus just wanted to throw in the towel. Pack a bag and take off for parts unknown.

But he wouldn’t do that, would he?

No, because unlike the women in his life, Marcus didn’t shirk his responsibilities. He’d accepted his path long ago, and he’d follow it to the bitter end. There were no deal breakers for him.

* * *

Although Joanna could hardly wait to give her notice, there was no way she was giving up her day off, so it was Friday morning before she could tell Chick the news.

“Hey, babe,” he said when he sauntered in at ten. Chick was not an early riser.

“I’m not your babe, Chick.” She tossed the empty container from her breakfast of blackberry yogurt into the trash can.

“Ah, come on.” He smiled down at her. “No hard feelings. We’re still friends, aren’t we?”

Joanna gave him a look. Friends. What was it with some guys? Did they think they could do anything and you’d still slobber over them? She’d be willing to bet he still believed she’d forget how he’d treated her and jump into the sack with him if he acted the way he wanted her to. “I don’t think we were ever friends,” she muttered.

He acted as if he hadn’t heard her and was already heading into his office.

“There’s an important letter sitting on your desk,” she called after him.

Less than two minutes later, he came stomping out, brandishing the letter, an expression of stunned astonishment on his face. “You’re quitting?”

She smiled sweetly, tamping down the urge to say, Can’t you read English? “Yes, I am.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m deadly serious.”

“Oh, come on, Joanna. I thought we were past all that.”

Joanna sighed. “Chick, this is not about you and me. It’s about me finally getting the chance to do what I’ve always wanted to do.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m going to be a full-time fashion designer from now on.”

“And you think you can support yourself doing that?”

Joanna had always known he didn’t take her aspirations seriously, and his attitude this morning proved it. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be just fine.” Earlier this morning she wasn’t sure if she would tell him about her upcoming show or not. Now she decided he didn’t deserve to know. Let him be shocked when he read about it in the paper or saw it covered on the local news. “Do you want me to call the employment agency or do you want to do it?”

He stared at her. “You’re really quitting.”

She nodded. “Afraid so.”

“Fine,” he sputtered, “but you can forget about this two-weeks bull. You can’t leave until we can find someone else and you can get her trained, no matter how long it takes.”

“I’m sorry, Chick, but that’s not the way it works. Two weeks’ notice is all I’m required to give you.” She almost felt sorry for him. But not sorry enough to give him any more of her precious time than she absolutely had to. After all, it wasn’t as if she needed a reference. She had no intention of ever working at anything but designing clothes again. Besides, knowing him, he would drag his feet forever without a reason not to.